Chapter 21
Twenty-One
Tobin lay awake, tossing and turning in the dormitory-style bunk room at the hangar when she finally gave in to reality: she wasn’t getting any more sleep.
The wind battered the hangar, alternating between howling gusts and metallic wheezes as the building strained against the gale. It was a little after five a.m., so she risked a quick text to Grier.
Good morning, Cinderella. Are you
swimming this morning?
Tobin suspected Grier used swimming much like she used cooking—as an outlet for her unspent emotion.
And what it did for her arms?
Well, Tobin certainly wasn’t complaining.
Grier’s shoulders were definitely one of her best physical features—toned, supple, and exceptionally capable of pinning Tobin between them. A position Tobin had learned, repeatedly, that she rather enjoyed submitting to.
And the way Grier looked above her, sliding her body along Tobin’s, those loose curls of hair falling onto her chest and collarbones—
It was all just… extraordinary.
Grier’s patience with her preceding sex had been one of the greatest acts of compassion and understanding anyone had ever shown her. But when Grier had suggested that—the assisted masturbation— she’d unknowingly altered the very foundation on which Tobin had built her protective walls.
It thrilled her.
It confused her.
It altogether wrecked her understanding of relationships.
Grier had come into her life all flirt and folly—only to reveal an unexpected tenderness that invited Tobin to question everything she’d accepted as truth about intimacy, about herself.
She hadn’t had the time—or the mental faculties—to review and dissect her emotions following that first orgasm. Or the next two. She’d simply given herself over to the pleasure, allowing Grier to find her—exactly as she’d promised—and bring her back from the euphoria each time.
But that moment, those words, had been looping through her mind ever since: “Lose yourself, Tobin. I’ll find you.”
The words whispered in her ears, like a siren’s call to her shielded heart.
GRIER—5:23 a.m.
Hi—You’re up early! Or have you not gone to
sleep yet? Too windy to swim. Finishing
some yoga before work.
TOBIN—5:23 a.m.
Can’t sleep. Giving up on it. I was
thinking about you. I thought you might
be awake so I thought I’d say hi.
She rolled over onto her side, staring at her screen, watching the little dots appear—stupidly excited just to be talking to Grier in real-time.
GRIER—5:24 a.m.
Were you thinking about me and that’s why
you can’t sleep? Or is something else going
on? Because, if it’s me, I’m flattered… but I
can think of much better ways I can keep you
up at night.
Good gods, this woman could take her from a state of sleep deprivation to slick and wanting in a single text.
Tobin considered herself fairly versed in the art of seduction.
She knew how to hood her eyes, to lick her lips, to drag her eyes over a woman’s face and body until there was no mistaking what she wanted—without saying a word.
She knew where to chastely brush against a woman, to let her feel her proximity—suggestion simmering just beneath the surface.
She knew how to drop her voice into that low, husky register that elicited the faintest perceptible clench in a woman’s abdomen—as her meaning settled deep in her pelvis and stirred a want for exactly what Tobin was offering.
But Grier’s ability to name her desire—to articulate exactly what she wanted and how she wanted it—obliterated Tobin’s concept of flirting and degraded her otherwise self-important aptitude.
It didn’t just turn her on. It dismantled her.
And when Grier brought that bold, unflinching clarity into the bedroom?
Tobin had never felt anything like it. And she was fucking here for it!
TOBIN—5:26am
Where do I sign up?
She grinned, rolling out of bed and pulling on her flight suit. She slid her phone into her pocket just as the hangar phone rang. She heard Eddie answer and, from the clipped tone, understood that they were about to mobilize.
One look from Eddie’s stormy gray eyes and Tobin knew it was a rescue. She gestured toward the Sikorsky, and after a nod from Eddie, she climbed into the box office and began the pre-flight checklist.
Within seconds, Eddie, Mike, and Jada were scrambling into their respective positions.
“Another mudslide,” Eddie declared.
“Oof, that’s the second one this week,” Tobin replied, checking her dials.
“The first with a victim,” Eddie responded. “A fisherman saw the whole thing from his boat. When he spotted a patch of yellow on the cliff face after the flow, he figured there was a civilian hanging on and called it in.”
“Probably saved the guy’s life,” Tobin said, thinking out loud.
Eddie opened the hangar door, and the wind snarled its way inside, raging through the open space. They moved toward the exit as Eddie’s voice crackled through the mic, “No kidding. But these winds are gonna be a bit of a bitch.”
Most rescues seemed to preclude kind skies or otherwise ideal flight conditions.
This morning was clear and sunny, but the wind was vicious—like it had a debt to settle against Aetheridge.
Sustained at twenty-seven miles per hour, with gusts reaching thirty-six, it made flying—and hovering—damn near impossible.
They fought the wind the entire flight, short though it was, to the mudslide site. The fisherman had been right: the victim’s bright yellow rain jacket was a beacon, guiding them directly to his location. They arrived to find him clinging precariously to a tree root jutting from the cliff face.
Getting into position, however, was proving harder than anticipated.
“Handle the fucking pedals!” Eddie roared at her over the comms. She wasn’t angry—the wind was just that loud, thundering even through their headsets.
“I’m trying!” Tobin shouted back. “These gusts aren’t exactly cooperative.”
“You’re kidding,” Eddie drawled sardonically, fighting to maintain their hover above the cliff face.
As if to emphasize their frustration, a straight-line gust pummeled the helicopter, shoving them twenty yards inland and spinning the nose until they faced west, between the forest and the lake.
Tobin’s adrenaline spiked. She coached herself to breathe—inhale, exhale— as she helped Eddie maneuver them back toward the lake.
It was one of the first clear days in weeks, following a stretch of light spring rains and severe seasonal storms. Beneath the cover of the forest canopy, it could’ve been a perfect morning for a hike.
Until the mudslide.
Tobin had seen them before. The unyielding wind over Lake Aether created a wave-action on the coastal cliffs, steadily chipping away at the rock above the water.
As erosion progresses, the cliff grows unstable: when one small section loses its hold, the keystone supporting the structure gives way and larger sections begin to collapse.
The resulting tremors dislodge the water-logged soil, and then the mud flows—first like molasses, then like a liquid beast, devouring everything in its path until it spills over the cliff and into the water below.
“Hey, Caps?” Mike called from the cabin. “We gotta drop soon. That guy’s been hanging for the better part of an hour—his grip isn’t gonna hold much longer.”
If they could just get to him before his strength gave out.
Eddie growled ferociously beside Tobin. She knew she shouldn’t laugh—it was rare to see Eddie this flustered. She managed to stifle it, burying the sound like a cough.
“Shut up, Blur. I’ll fire you.” Or, you know. Maybe not.
Tobin’s smirk vanished as another gust slammed into them, swinging the nose until they were once again positioned between the forest and the lake.
“Shit,” she muttered, swallowing her pride.
This was not going well. They were already flying in winds that most experienced pilots would flat-out refuse to navigate.
Dropping a basket alongside a cliff to extract a precariously dangling victim was a maneuver only the most adept would attempt.
Tobin had every confidence in her and Eddie’s abilities—but the winch system unnerved her.
Once airborne, that basket would be a pendulum in a hurricane.
If they even felt safe dropping it in the first place.
“Working on it, Mike,” Eddie replied curtly.
Tobin watched as Eddie worked the cyclic, adjusting their position to face perpendicular to the wind, then inched them forward toward the cliff ’s edge.
“You know I’m not one to question our skill. If anyone can pull this off, it’s us. We’ve got this, Eddie,” Tobin cheered, steady on the pedals as she worked to stabilize their progress.
“Smooth recovery,” Eddie shot back, her sarcasm laced with less venom than was warranted.
“Captain Parrish,” Mike cut in, his voice crackling through the comms, “I know you like perfection—but we don’t need it here. Jada and I got this. You just get us close enough to drop, and I’ll make sure that basket gets her down and both of them back up.”
Tobin had to give him credit—Mike had impeccable timing. “I’m gonna get her down, Mike. Hang on,” Eddie replied, her
voice edged with renewed conviction.
Then, to Tobin: “I’m going to try to get us some cover.” “Cover? From what? There’s literally nothing but the cliff and
open sky, Eddie.”
Eddie risked a glance at her, and Tobin could feel the brazen confidence emanating from her friend’s roguish grin.
“Vacuum,” she said.
Tobin’s mind raced through her mental catalogue of maneuvers.
She couldn’t place it. “Vacuum?” she questioned.
“Leeward vacuum,” Eddie replied—her staccatoed response landing with a dull thud inside the walls of Tobin’s cranium.
Of course, Tobin thought. But her excitement dwindled as quickly as it had arrived. “Eddie, that’s only possible if the wind’s blowing parallel to the cliff—from the forest. This wind is perpendicular. How…” She trailed off, no longer certain of their plan.